Christmas Gifts
by shinchansgirl
Summary: Still the minuses greatly outweighed the pluses in the equation of his life. That’s how he thought of it, as well: ‘the equation of Pathetic Potter’s life.’ Yes, he had thrown in one of Malfoy’s offhand nicknames for The Boy Who Lived. first st
1. The Christmas Owl

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**Title:** The Christmas Owl   
**Author name:** Tsunami  
**Author email:** Mistress_Tsunami@yahoo.com  
**Category:** Angst  
**Sub Category:** Slash  
**Keywords:** Harry Draco Owl Letter h/d  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF  
**Summary:** That was barely scratching the surface, and still the minuses greatly outweighed the pluses in the equation of his life. That's how he thought of it, as well: 'the equation of Pathetic Potter's life.' Yes, he had thrown in one of Malfoy's offhand nicknames for The Boy Who Lived.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** Warnings: Angst. Suicide. Slash. I really don't like that category because it's so general, so for those of you who'll understand me, I'll break it down, otherwise ignore me. Slight shonen-ai. Sorry peeps, no citrus.  
Notes: Yes, I know that it's an x-mas fic during the Days of the Dead, but please ignore that fact, I'm in an x-masy mood. Also, this is my very first Harry Potter fanfiction, so constructive criticism will be most welcomed, especially as I don't have a beta. Any other comments are also welcome. Flames will be laughed at.  
Note2: Pretty much ignore the fact that book five exists for this fic, as I haven't read all of it yet so I kinda made up my own year 5, 6, and Final Battle. Huh. Guess that makes this TWT, then, or AU for the more general people. (TWT is Timeline What Timeline).  


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The Christmas Owl

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Christmas at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry left much to be desired by the student that chose, or had to, stay at the school for the holiday break. Activities for those that remained were rarely planned, as most students opted to go home, and, while teachers did lessen the homework for the break, this also left the rare student who wished for a distraction very little to work with. Too cold for Quidditch and no work to be completed.

This, however, was not a problem that most seventh year students faced, as those who weren't going home had found a friend to go home with. Most students had avoided the problem of the long break, and were, actually, looking forward to it with enthusiasm. In fact, it seemed that every Gryffindor, even the early years, was looking forward to it. Every Gryffindor except Harry Potter, unfortunately. Harry never went 'home' to the Dursleys, and usually Ron stayed at school with him. This year, though, Ronald Weasley was going home, leaving the green-eyed boy to fend for himself. Oh, sure, the red-head had offered his home to Harry, and Molly Weasley, Ron's mother, had also pressed the issue, but he still declined, uncomfortable with the family after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, and with good reason, considering the Weasley family's losses. After the death of Sirius, Harry had become more withdrawn, until only Ron and Ron's bushy-haired girlfriend, Hermione, had dared to talk to him unless absolutely necessary. Hermione had also asked Harry to join them for the holidays, as she was staying with the Weasleys as well, but hadn't pressed the issue after he had declined.

And that was how Harry came to be sitting at the edge of the lake, covered in snow, alone on Christmas Eve. He had played solitaire, sulked, played pyramids, sulked, moped, sulked, and generally thought on his life.

Ron and Hermione had gotten together. That was a plus.

Sirius. Dead. Minus.

Lupin. Dead. Minus.

Cedric. Dead. Minus.

Malfoy Sr. in Azkaban. Plus.

Dark Lord. Dead. Plus.

Percy. Dead. Minus.

Fudge. Dead. Iffy.

On top of all that, his parents were still dead, so unless he found a suitable place to live, or a place to stay until he found a place to live on his own, he would be forced to go back to the Dursleys. A big negative there.

True, he could stay with Ron until he found a guardian who would sign on a lease or sale of a house or apartment, but that would feel too much like using his...were they still best friends?

Truthfully, Ron was more like his only friend.

That was barely scratching the surface, and still the minuses greatly outweighed the pluses in the equation of his life. That's how he thought of it, as well: 'the equation of Pathetic Potter's life.' Yes, he had thrown in one of Malfoy's offhand nicknames for The Boy Who Lived.

An owl landed nearby, and Harry eyed it uneasily when he saw it was not Hedwig. Not that he was expecting her. Hedwig had seen him through the Final Battle with the Evil Lord Voldemort, but in the process of helping him had done irreversible damage to her left wing. The featherless appendage was now covered in a tough, scab-like skin that always appeared to be melted and dirty. It was also very sensitive.

This owl was an eagle owl, a rare bird indeed. In fact, there was only one that he knew of and it belonged to...

Draco Malfoy had helped Harry in the Final Battle as well, throwing the desperate teen his wand back while Hedwig distracted the Death Eaters. That was where she had injured her wing. Draco had probably saved her life and his, and for that reason and that reason alone Harry took the envelope that was in the owl's beak when it hooted impatiently.

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_Harry,_

_While I am deeply sorry for what my father has done to you, and what he has done to your friends, I cannot hope that you will ever forgive me for blindly following him and hurting you, both emotionally, socially, and physically._

_I would like to spend my whole like making it up to you, but that, I'm afraid, is impossible. I don't think that I could live with seeing the pain that I caused you every day, or even every week. It hurts enough as it is, a constant spell that keeps me in pain._

_I have to tell you something, Harry, so please don't disregard this letter. Please, don't put it down until you finish reading. I beg of you, please._

_I can't say this to your face, as I've tried for the past week, and for that I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, but I doubt that such a crime can be overlooked, even by you. I would like to admit why I began to believe my father, why I acted as I did. I was jealous. Jealous of Weasley and Granger, and of all the friends that you seemed to amass without trying, but especially Ron and Hermione._

_You accepted them, and declined me. That hurt. A lot. I thought that I was better than they were, certainly better off, and I liked you. I wanted...craved your friendship. When I didn't receive it, I assumed that my father was right, and forced myself to hate you._

_You wouldn't let that happen, though. You got under my skin, Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, and wormed your way into my life. I know it doesn't help, nor will it win your friendship or forgiveness, but I hope that you would accept Skye, the owl who delivered this letter to you. He has been patient and kind with this, so treat him well, please. Yes, before you ask, he is mine, but I doubt very much that I will need him after tonight. Think of him as a Christmas gift._

_Goodluck, Boy Who Lived._

_Goodbye._

_Draco Malfoy._

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Harry paused. Most of the letter was pretty self-explanatory, on the surface at least, but the hidden messages in nearly every line were so repetitive, and yet still so confusing. He knew what the last lines meant though; Harry had considered it a few times himself.

Harry gave Skye an owl treat before he rose. Draco Malfoy seriously thought that he was going to commit suicide that night, and Harry had no idea what he was going to do about it. Harry walked away from the lake as Skye left, still not happy, but no longer sulking.

~FIN~

~OWARI~

~THE END~

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	2. The Return Gift

~~~~The Return Gift~~~  
Draco POV  
  
I really don't know why I sent him Skye.  
  
Yes I do. I owed him, and I didn't want my owl to be lonely, either. It's the letter that I can't explain. It's too late now, though. Life goes on, for some people at least.  
  
I love the image of the sky from this tower as the sun sets. That's why I named my owl Skye, he was as beautiful as this. It has so many colors; purple, red, even the pink is lovely, and contrasts sharply with the blue and green of the landscape. It's picture-perfect, as the muggles would say.  
  
I'm so tired of all the sympathy and pity. Poor Malfoy, his father's in Azkaban; poor Mlafoy, his mother's dead; poor Malfoy, poor Malfoy, poor Malfoy. Why can't they understand that all I want is for them to shut up? All I want is some peace and quiet, some silence, for once.  
  
I will have that for eternity after tonight.  
  
I wonder if I'll miss the inane chatter.  
  
I can see Skye as he flies to Potter, see the boy give my owl a treat as he reads the letter. Potter's seemed so distant lately, never giving me a good fight. He seems almost depressed.  
  
What right does he have to be depressed? The dark lord has been defeated. He has people who love him, who care for him. Perfect Potter, the only enemy I couldn't defeat, didn't want to, honestly. Because if he was dead, then that would mean that there was nothing left for me to live for, no reason for me to continue on.  
  
Like now.  
  
Every day is the same. The sheer boredom of each day is enough to send me under. Potter wouldn't be my friend, and now he won't be my enemy, either. I can understand that, though. I was horrid to him, beyond what was reasonable, and I deserve what I got.  
  
"Malfoy."  
  
I smirk to myself. I can hear his voice still, even as I stare out into the vastness of Great Britain. Condescending, or maybe reprimanding. I don't know, but I deserve both.  
  
But then a hand encloses my wrist, warm, and I am certain that it is very real. I turn my head to face this intruder on my solitude, not certain who I will find. I find myself being careful of the edge, and I'm not sure why, only realizing that I will miss the end of my last sunset here.  
  
"Malfoy, step away." It is Potter. Harry Potter.  
  
I'm so ashamed I can't even look him in the eye, so I resort to anger, as I have so many times in the past. "Shove off, Potter," I sneer, and pull away. He doesn't let go, pulling me away from the edge - used by so many for stargazing, now for something not quite so innocent. I collapse at his feet, and he, unwilling to let me go, falls to his knees with me. "God dammit, Potter, couldn't you just let go?"  
  
"A lot of people have already died either for me or because of me, Malfoy. I don't want that to happen anymore."  
  
I feel myself wince, too weak to hide it anymore. Of course I would add to the burden of the life of the Boy-Who-Lived.  
  
"Let's eat, and maybe talk later?" he asks, and I find myself agreeing. After all, I muse, food cures man of all pain. Usually. 


End file.
